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'Northern Pathway ' ---- :The northern artery of the independent freehold known as Crown's Refuge is known quite simply as the Western Pathway; a road of smooth cobbles, wide enough for two carriages to pass with space to spare, that runs a perfect north-south route between Tempest Corona to the south, and the northern palisade wall. :The cobbles of the pathway are not only smooth and level, but also seem to have been born from a variety of different types of stone, giving each one a distinct color as it rests next to all the others. Hues of brown, gold, bronze, slate, charcoal, and a myriad of other shades all conspire together to make such a route more affluent than it really needs to be. :The sides of the pathway are protected by low-rising curbs that mark where the road ends and the rest of the large township begins. Beyond those curbs, homes and stores flank the pathway in carefully placed patterns of building and street. Small backroads and trails break away from the main artery to lead to the two northern quarters of Crown's Refuge that the Northern Pathway runs as a divide between. :The towering fortification known as Tempest Spire looms overhead towards the south, giving you a constant bearing of where you are located within Crown's Refuge. The residential quarter known as Wolfsbane's Row rests towards the east, existing as a neat collection of residential houses and streets in which the Human Wildlanders live. Adjacent to this towards the west spans the quarter of the freehold known as Snowfall Basin; a cold-water lagoon around which the Syladris Wildlanders of Crown's Refuge live. ---- It is evening - the moons swirl overhead and a small cloaked figure picks her way daintily across the cobbles in the cold, breezy air, looking as though she might wear a silk gown rather than a suit of leather armour. She seems to come from the east, her loose hair billowing around her head like a yellow sail. Kael moves quietly along the cobbles from the east, out of Snowfall Basin and into the Refuge proper. His cloak is missing still, his boots forgotten, but his pack is over his shoulder, his hair contained - for once. The young freelander's face is drawn and tired. Looking up from the cobbles upon which she had been fixated, Milora glances briefly over her shoulder, glances back - and does a double take. She slows to a halt, waiting for the man walking behind her to near. "Walking with a purpose?" she inquires softly. Kael looks up at that - his expression remaining tiredly neutral. ".. jus' goin' t' th' inn, m'lady. Too tired t' sleep out o' doors t'night, 's all." He shifts that pack on his back. An almost injured look crosses Milora's face; she inclines her head. "May I walk alongside you?" "As y' wish, m'lady." Kael inclines his head. "Wi' nae stop ye, no." He does slow his pace, a bit, however. As such, she quickens hers until they match - she carries on next to him, looking rather ... well, peculiar, and not very happy. "Master Firelight, I have been meaning to ask you something. I expect that I know the answer already, but I occasionally expect wrongly." Kael glances to her. "Wi' answer what I can - m' nae th' sort what needs a lot o' fancy worryin' afore y' throw out questions. What'cha wonderin', then?" "You are lucky." She draws her breath, and shuts her eyes. "I feel foolish. Please - I would not ask you to love something selfish and bad, because you are much too good for that. But do you think that we might ever be on friendly terms again?" He shrugs, slightly. "M' nae sure, m'lady." That's honest, at least. "M' nae sure o' anythin', anymore - I thought y' were sommat other 'n ye were. Yer nae 'bad' - aye, selfish, mabye." "Then I /am/ a spoiled child, exactly as that woman says," Milora replies thoughtfully, her eyes downcast. "I must have everything for myself, and everything my way and no other. And - and - I do not think about any hide except my own." ".. 'bout right." He studies the road as he walks. "So what d' ye intend on doin' about 't?" Odd, how hurt he sounds. Quiet and tired, it creeps into his voice. A sigh. "Is that really what you think? ... Perhaps it is so. I'm not inclined to believe any better of myself, judging by my behaviour. I have told that ridiculous woman that I am sorry for behaving so badly, although it was lying of me to do so. And I told her that I wished the quick healing of that pitiful scratch on her arm, which is the truth. Oh - do you know, I am not sorry for what I have done, although I /am/ sorry for having put everyone at an inconvenience? And her as well, she probably means as well as I do. Or better." Kael shrugs. Noncommittal. ".. What do y' want me t' say, m'lady?" He looks up - still neutral, though his voice remains that odd.. hurt. "Whate'er it is, wi' say it." Milora shakes her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I ... I don't exactly know." She glances at him, briefly. "I am so sorry. I ... oh. I wish that I could have been better for your sake. I am so sorry. ..." Her mouth remains open for a moment before she closes it, looking forwards again. He stops, shifting that pack again. "... fer my sake? What happened t' yerself?" Kael shakes his head. "... s' nae what y' /did/ anymore, m'lady Lomasa. S' what y' keep doin'. 'rediculous woman'? 'pitiful scratch'? Yer jus' a noble - 'n one o' Norran's kin 't that.. I donnae ken what I were expectin', but what right d' I hae t' expect anythin' o' ye?" "Well, it wouldn't matter much to me otherwise. I am certain that without my brothers and my father and my ... well, and the Duke, and people like you and Syton Temple, I would always be running around hedonistic and behaving horribly. But I couldn't possibly mean to make them uncomfortable, or I could never live with myself. And - oh!" She furrows her eyebrows. "But perhaps you are wrong. Perhaps my heart is /not/ made of stone because the blood that runs through it is noble! Can not a noble love, and make foolish mistakes for its sake? -- Mark my words, if it were Norran himself who wanted to do you harm, I would put an arrow closer to his heart than his shoulder before allowing such a thing. You - you misunderstand me. I really think you must." "... maybe I do. If 't makes y' feel better fer thinkin' so, I do." Kael shakes his head. ".. Norran treats ye like y' treated that woman - n' matter how sweet 's words. N' yer blind t' both. I cannae blame ye fer bein' what y' are - but I kin be sad that y' cannae find yer way t' bein' more. N'.. I kin look 't ye 'n say I were a fool fer thinkin' a wolf coul' be anythin' more 'n a fancy dog t' a noble, m'lady. Th' world moves t' yer askin'... n' me? M' a slave t' th' world - how kin I be e'en a friend wi' that?" "I do not know," Milora replies, carrying on for a moment in silence. Her voice is quivering, but her eyes are mostly dry. "Perhaps ..." she stops, and shakes her head. "I have never thought of you as a Shadow-touched freelander. I suppose it does not matter. And what difference does it make whether I resent for for calling me spoiled and thinking badly of me? Does it even matter whether I hate her? - You are so - you are so... "...You are _wrong_. ... I am so sorry." She looks almost appalled at herself - pale, shaken, and even bordering on sickly as she raises a hand to rest on her breast. "Norran is a good man, even if he does - if he /does/ say the wrong things and have the wrong ideas about others, and if he does do things that make me want to die of shame -- he is good, and he wants things that are /Light/, and he /loves/ me although we have not always seen eye to eye. And I do not have to fear him. And you are _wrong_. I could love that woman here and now as a friend if she had ever said a kind word to me after my apology, or if she could only try to understand me as I have tried and failed to understand her. Try! Ohhh -" She can no longer walk; she is forced, shaking violently with exertion, to stand still. "- Kael Firelight, what would you have me do? I am only human!" "And I am nae." Kael's words are simple, and sad. "All I woul' ask o' ye - o' /anyone/... 's t' see beyond yerself." He shakes his head, quietly - "If Norran Lomasa loved ye - 'e woul' court ye, n' pursue a weddin'... nae take ye t' bed like a common whore, wi' promises 'n sweet words." That's oddly gentle, despite the words he uses - "Why shoul' 'that woman' offer a kind word, when all sh' gets from ye 'n th' rest o' us is empty? It means nothin' - more words. More empty thoughts, empty promises. S' that all w' are?" There's a long pause. "When Alainne were ill, 'n ye were lookin' fer yer things... I gave y' th' only thing I e'er owned worth sommat." He swallows. "Were a gift, from m'lady Sahna Nillu 'n m' Alainne, both. That cloak y' hae still. But I gave 't t' ye.. because 'twere th' right thing t' do. Because 't fulfilled her obligation t' ye. Back there in th' tavern? I gave up m' axe t' Blackfox, t' make amends fer what ye did - fer 't were right t' do. Because /one/ o' us needed t' stand up an /make things right/, t' /do/ sommat other 'n bandy about empty words n' falseness." He shrugs. "Y' tell me.. what woul' I hae ye do?" Apparently overwhelmed, Milora throws her hands up to cover her face, quietly listening as the man has his say. Well, she cries - but silently, respectfully, and unwittingly, the moisture streaming down her cheeks unhindered by anything more than her palms. With every teardrop she becomes less and less fervent, until she's left standing without passion, dropping her hands and looking him in the face. "I would not have had it," she whispers weakly. "I would never have taken anything from you. ... Does nothing good that I have ever done mean anything now? -- No. You are right. I can not like her as long as she hates me, but I will bear her hatred kindly, because I brought it on myself. And you ... I do not know. But I shall make it up to her, and you shall have back your axe. ... Oh. You! ... I must be a terrible woman indeed." Kael shakes his head. "Yer nae terrible. Ne'er hae been." The young man absently runs a hand over his hair. "Y' startin' t' understand, a little, 't least? S' nae about blame, o' anythin'. All o' us - e'ery one on this light-forsaken journey - w' treated 'er like she were less 'n human. Like gettin' shot b' one o' us were 'just a scratch', 'n she were somehow a villan for it." He touches her shoulder, gently. "I frightend 'er, Milora. Were nae right either. But I been watchin' - I watch how folks treat Ester, fer one - th' go cryin' t' her wi' their troubles, an' then toss 'er aside. Th' cause /her/ troubles, 'n then walk away pointin' out how awful sh' is, o' how rude. Norran - 'e waves that sword around 'ere, stomps around 'n his armor what nae e'en th' blod guard kin afford, 'n thinks 's his light-given right t' shove around anyone what 's nae as strong 's he is. W' say a lot. W' go on about our rights 'n wrongs 'n how important w' are.. 'n what, so that poor, frightened woman kin b' treated s' though what w' did donnae matter?" He shakes his head. "What 's right is /right/ - n' no amount o' talkin' makes 't anythin' less. An ye kin 't 's well 's I do. I jus' hae th' shades-taken wherewithal t' /act/, while all th' rest o' e'eryone bandied about right 'n wrong. I got nae time fer words anymore - th' donnae mean a shadow-lovin' thing." He turns away, heading up the cobbles. "Yer nae evil. Yer nae e'en bad. M' jus' tired. Light keep ye, m'lady Lomasa. T'morrow, y' kin go back 'n throw more words around wi' folks - mabye wi' make y' feel better. But jus' kin I hear 'em... an' all th' words in th' world donnae change what really happened, an' what 's /right/." ---- ''Return to Season 5 (2007) Category:Logs